He lay down here, drew straw over himself in lieu of blankets, and was soon absorbed in thinking.

He had many griefs, but the minor ones were swept almost into forgetfulness by the supreme one, the loss of his father.

To the rest of the world the name of Henry VIII.

brought a shiver, and suggested an ogre whose nostrils breathed destruction and whose hand dealt scourgings and death; but to this boy the name brought only sensations of pleasure; the figure it invoked wore a countenance that was all gentleness and affection.

He called to mind a long succession of loving passages between his father and himself, and dwelt fondly upon them, his unstinted tears attesting how deep and real was the grief that possessed his heart.
As the afternoon wasted away, the lad, wearied with his troubles, sank gradually into a tranquil and healing slumber.
After a considerable time--he could not tell how long--his senses struggled to a half-consciousness, and as he lay with closed eyes vaguely wondering where he was and what had been happening, he noted a murmurous sound, the sullen beating of rain upon the roof.